


Almost Gone

by bashfulwalrus



Category: The Dolan Twins
Genre: Angst, Brothers, Car Accident, Crying, Dolan twins, Fluff, Gen, Hospital, Identical Twins, Twin Brothers, Twins, motorcycle accident, the dolan twins - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 02:36:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16945362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashfulwalrus/pseuds/bashfulwalrus
Summary: Based on when Ethan got into a motorcycle accident back in AugustGrayson’s concern for what would’ve happened if he’d lost his brother, light angst and crying





	Almost Gone

“Look at this little guy,” I coo softly, cradling the tiny grasshopper. I hold my phone in my other hand, recording the encounter for a Snapchat story. “Let me take you back into the wild.” But before I can move, my phone screen lights up with an incoming call, causing the video to stop recording. I huff with frustration.  
“Hello?” I answer, not even bothering to hide the annoyed edge to my voice.  
“Grayson?” the voice on the other end is panicked, and for a second I think it’s a fan that somehow got my number.  
“Yeah, it’s me.” I focus on my left hand, where the grasshopper is still crawling around aimlessly.  
“It’s mom.” I finally realize why I couldn’t recognize the voice- because it was all wobbly and high-pitched.  
“Mom? Is everything okay?”  
“The hospital just called,” she pauses. “Apparently Ethan got into a motorcycle accident.”  
My blood runs cold as white noise fills my ears.  
“Grayson? Are you still there?”  
“Yeah- yeah I’m here,” I trip over my words as my brain floods with a hundred different scenarios, all of them ending badly.  
“They say he’s okay,” Mom rushes out. “That he’s stable, but he has a few minor injuries.”  
“What happened? Where is he injured?”  
“The details are still fuzzy and we’re waiting for the full story. Just meet us at the hospital, the ER unit, as soon as you can.”  
My head spins. “Ok, I’ll be right there.”  
The phone line goes dead and I distantly realize that the grasshopper is still sitting on my hand, looking up at me with an unconcerned expression. Quickly, I shake it off and it jumps away.  
I feel my breathing speed up as I run into the kitchen to grab my car keys, hands shaking. I should’ve stopped Ethan from going, or gone with him, but no, I had to stay home and make stupid Snapchat videos while Ethan was out there going 70 mph on a motorcycle. Stupid. My eyes burned as I yanked open the front door and sprinted into my Jeep, putting it into reverse almost immediately.  
As I drove, the thought that Ethan was all alone nagged at me. Went out riding alone. Crashed alone. And is now sitting in a hospital bed, alone. I should’ve been there. And I need to be there. Now.  
I press down on the accelerator desperately, swerving around cars and speeding red lights. So what if the police stop me? I’d run the rest of the way.  
An eternity later, although it was probably only five minutes, I reach the hospital entrance. The sky is gray with clouds looming low, almost reflecting the current mood. I park the car haphazardly, probably the worst parking job of my life, and I almost laugh at how Ethan would roast me about it, ask me if I got my driving license from Walmart or some shit. My throat closes up suddenly. I almost lost him. I almost never got to joke around with him again.  
I lock the car and jog up to the wide, automatic doors, looking like the cliche guy who runs into the hospital all panicked, but I don’t care.  
“Ethan Dolan,” I gasp out, once I finally reach the front desk. “Where is he?”  
The secretary looks at me with starstruck, but also sad eyes. She jabs a thumb behind her. “Down the hall, third door on the left.”  
I nod my thanks and follow her directions, slowing my gait from before, but only slightly. Around me, I hear audible gasps and even a few photos being taken from fans, but it all fades into nothingness as I lock my gaze on the hallway. Third door on the left. Third door on the left. Third door on the left.  
I reach the room and swing it open, breathing heavily.  
My mom, dad, and a single doctor are gathered around a hospital bed, and you could hear a pin drop at my arrival. Slowly, they part so that I can finally see Ethan. I swallow a gasp as I take in all the wires and gauze and monitors attached to him, before finally trailing my eyes up to his face, which is pale and tired-looking, although his eyes still hold their mischievous sparkle.  
“Gray, relax,” Ethan is saying. “You look like you’re the one who got hit by a truck.”  
“A truck?” My head spirals at this new information. “Don’t even joke, E…” I take a step back and run my hands through my hair, trying to hold myself together.  
“I’m okay, really. Only a few bumps and scratches.”  
“Still.”  
Mom comes over and wraps me in a hug, and her familiar scent is comforting. She pulls away, her eyes filled with tears. “Ethan was lucky. He got hurt way less than he should’ve.”  
“What happened?”  
Ethan grimances at the memory. “I was trying to merge on the freeway, you know, from I-590 to 76. And there’s this semitruck also merging in front of me, one of those big ones, and I thought he saw me Grayson, I really did.”  
I nod, waiting for him to continue.  
Ethan takes a deep breath and I realize how weak he looks. “The truck was going slow, so I was going to swerve left around him, but once I started swerving the guy moved left too.”  
“So he just hit you?” I cry out.  
“I thought he saw me,” Ethan says again, staring at his hands. “Guess not.”  
I shudder out a deep breath. “Oh my God, Ethan. Trucks have those blind spots, remember?”  
“What, the T-zone?”  
I choke out a laugh, but it borders more on hysterical than comical. “The no-zone. They have these huge ass blind spots in the back. So they can’t see a tiny motorcycle...” I trail off into silence, feeling a swell of sadness.  
Before the quietness can stretch too long, the doctor chimes in, who I almost forgot was there. “Ethan is expected to make a full recovery,” he declares, turning to his clipboard. “The fractured rib and radius will take four to six weeks to fully recover, respectively, and the cuts should heal on their own. However, it’s best to apply antibacterial spray to the cuts to prevent infection. Are there any questions?”  
I feel suddenly lightheaded. Fractured rib? Prevent infections? This was all too much, too fast. Just this morning Ethan and I were eating breakfast over loud music. Back then, misophonia was his biggest problem. And now? He had a hundred bruises and scratches and all this pain and there was nothing I could do about it.  
I zoned out as Dad began asking the doctor technical questions about pressure points and fluid buildup, my eyes meeting Ethan’s across the room. He looked back at me, his gaze swimming with a thousand different emotions. Finally, he jerked his eyes away, almost guiltily.  
“...thanks for everything,” I tuned back in to my dad. “We’ll be sure to let him get some rest.”  
Everyone began moving towards the door and I froze. “Could I, uh, have a moment alone?” I asked awkwardly.  
Mom nodded, pressing her lips together in understanding. “Sure, take your time.” She shut the door behind her, and then it was just Ethan and I.  
Ethan rested his gaze on the heart monitor clipped onto his finger, mouth curling up in amusement. “If I wiggle it up and down the beeping speeds up,” he says, demonstrating. “Look.”  
I ignore him. “How are you so okay with this right now? You almost died.”  
The smile slips off his face instantly as he realizes how serious I am. “I didn’t almost die,” he mutters.  
“Yes you did! That’s what the doctor was telling us. You’re lucky to even be here right now.” I cross my arms.  
Ethan pauses, deep in thought, then sighs. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’s just so surreal that I have to make jokes about it. You know?”  
“I know,” I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” I take a few steps and then lean forward suddenly, hugging him.  
Ethan tries to reciprocate, but then he groans in pain. I quickly draw back, afraid of hurting him. “Only a few bumps and scratches my ass,” I tease softly, taking a seat on the chair next to him. Ethan laughs, but then hisses in pain from laughing. Concern swells in my chest. “I hate seeing you in pain. I wish it was me instead.”  
“Stop being so dramatic, I’ll be fine in a few weeks.”  
I force myself to smile. “Oh I forgot, Ethan is too emo and cool to feel sad. He just skateboards all the pain away.”  
“Not anymore,” Ethan huffs. “At least I can still Fortnite though.”  
“Yeah, true,” I agree, smiling at the image of Ethan holed up in his room with headphones on and a blanket wrapped around him, a can of Coke at his side. Such a familiar sight. One I almost lost forever.  
Suddenly, I feel myself tearing up. “Fuck,” I choke out. “I swore I wouldn’t do this.”  
“Are you crying?” Ethan asks, but it holds no judgement, only gentleness. “Grayson, I’m alive. I’m here.”  
“But you almost weren’t,” my voice cracks. “What if you hadn’t made it?”  
“Why even think about that?” Ethan’s voice is hardly a whisper.  
“Because if I lost you...” I pause. “I couldn’t go on.”  
“Shut up. Don’t say that,” Ethan says harshly, his eyes getting glossy. “You’d be fine without me.”  
“No I wouldn’t. I almost died during that stupid ‘One week without each other’ challenge last year.”  
“Oh really?” Ethan raises an eyebrow. “Because I was having the time of my life.”  
“Like hell you were,” I laugh and go to shove him, but stop myself just in time.  
We both freeze, just looking at each other, and I feel it. The invincible connection, the indescribable closeness, the feeling that I’d never be able to live without him because really, I wouldn’t. A world without him was unimaginable.  
“What are we supposed to tell the fans?” Ethan asks, eyebrows scrunched up.  
I think. “Just tweet something about how you were in an accident, but you’re okay,” I suggest. “And I can get someone to take a picture of us to put on my Twitter.”  
Ethan nods. “Yeah, that’ll work.” His expression lights up. “Do you think Nicki Minaj will be worried?”  
I chuckle. “She’ll be beside herself with worry, even cancel her tour to fly here right now.”  
Ethan’s expression becomes dreamy. “Hey, it could happen.”  
“Sure it could,” I humor him, then look around the room. White walls on white sheets on white bandages. “So when do you get out of here?”  
“Not until tomorrow,” Ethan grumbles. “They want me to stay overnight to monitor my heartbeat or whatever.”  
“Better to be safe than sorry,” I shrug.  
“Easy for you to say. You get to sleep in your own bed tonight.”  
“Who said I’m going home?” I crossed my arms. “I’m sleeping right here in this plastic chair.”  
“C’mon Gray, you don’t have to do that.”  
“But I want to,” I retort. “Sorry Ethan, but you’re not getting away from me no matter what.”  
Ethan rolls his eyes in mock annoyance, but I can tell he’s secretly glad. “Whatever.” He pauses. “While you’re here, you might as well get me a bag of chips from the vending machine.”  
“Get it yourself, you lazy bum!” I tease, knowing that there’s no way he could get up, let alone walk.  
“Yeah, yeah, real funny. Just go already.”  
“Okay, okay,” I laugh, standing up. As I walk out the door, I turn around to look back at Ethan one more time. “Hey Ethan?”  
“Yeah?”  
“No more motorcycling.”  
Ethan sighs, but raises his hand and gives me a salute. “Yes sir.”  
I nod and close the door softly behind me. Out in the hall, Dad is signing some paperwork at the counter. “Ethan was really lucky,” he mumbles to me.  
I peer through the door’s tiny window, where Ethan is absorbed once again in wiggling the heart rate monitor on his finger, making the beeping speed up.  
The corners of my mouth curl up fondly at the sight. “Yeah, he was.”


End file.
